


Tight Reins

by aine_clover



Series: What if? GWTW [3]
Category: Gone With the Wind - All Media Types, Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell
Genre: Arguing, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22629868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aine_clover/pseuds/aine_clover
Summary: Prompt by ninigi - What if Rhett did not allow Scarlett to turn their home into the monster it became?
Relationships: Rhett Butler/Scarlett O'Hara
Series: What if? GWTW [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624156
Comments: 11
Kudos: 78





	Tight Reins

Scarlett O’Hara was the epitome of the phrase ‘money can’t buy taste’. 

Rhett Butler had more money than the whole of the South put together, and the newly minted Mrs Rhett Butler was excited to spend the seemingly endless sum on anything she could get her hands on.

This, for one, did not bother Rhett. He had lived with vast money and no money in his time. He had learnt early in his youth that money was just something one needed enough of to act badly. With enough of it, his reputation which sat in tatters had nil effect on him. Millionaires were always received, even ones that were scoundrels.

He had tolerated it. Her lavish lifestyle of clothes and desserts, on wild display during their honeymoon, hadn’t ruffled him at all. He didn’t even know a woman could have so many dresses, and he had known a lot of women. 

Scarlett liked anything that was vivid and daring. She liked to look seductive and young and rich. Always rich. Everything she bought screamed it. 

Rhett knew better than to wear one's money. His family in Charleston was one of the wealthiest and most respected families in the south. He knew what real money looked like. Money that dribbled down through generations and built empires. He knew what it meant to own houses so big there were rooms that would never even be entered, let alone used. He had grown up in such obscene wealth, so well versed in it all, that Scarlett's garish spending was refreshing. He loved to see her happy, and if it were something as simple as a bit of brightly coloured fabric pushed and stitched into the shape of a bonnet, well he would be happy to oblige. He had laughed when she had almost salivated at the size of the ring he had gotten her. Her obsession with wealth, with sumptuousness, made her infinitely easy to impress and please. Finally, he had the right to lavish and spoil her like he had wanted to for years. She took it all, never satisfied or satiated, always looking at him with a wild delight that made his chest warm. 

So, although she had her own wild if not cruel charm, she lacked taste. Rhett, however, knew that taste could be taught, and it could be learnt.

Rhett knew taste and charm lived in perfect alignment, two sides of the same coin. Charm to disarm. Rhett was a master of this, as he felt he had skilfully demonstrated by finally marrying Scarlett O’Hara. 

He didn’t mind that she burnt through his money like the Yankee’s burned down Atlanta. She had her own, and he had his, and he had so much of it he knew that if she spent like that for the rest of their lives she’d barely put a dent in it at all. 

He had even let her fix Tara, a gracious gesture which had surprised even himself. He had seen it alight such warmth in her gaze, and when she lay beneath him that night, sighing, fingers tangled into his black hair, her sharp teeth dug into the crook of his neck, marking him as she fruitlessly attempted to silence herself as he moved skilfully over and through her, he knew he’d let her spend every penny he had till he was destitute if it kept her so warm and willing. 

He had marvelled at her work on the first walkthrough of Tara, impressed by the simple and elegant finishes throughout the house. He would never tell her, but he found so homely and so charming that he wanted to take the children and Scarlett and go play house out in the red dirt. 

So, when she had elected to do the interior for their Peachtree Street mansion he had acquiesced. Why, if she could do half the job she had done on Tara he’d be happy. 

It was, of course, busy work. Women’s work. A busy Scarlett was a happy Scarlett, and a happy Scarlett made for a happy Rhett. She was in the highest of spirits as she planned the house meticulously, prattling on about it. Not that he listened, God no! Carpet and drapes and hardwood, and Georgia pine, and rugs from Europe, chandeliers, stained glass windows, and golden finishes, was the conversation of boredom and death. He'd rather be awaiting the gallows once more than listen to a moment of such talk. He instead waited till she would finish her monologue, laid beside her in their fine hotel suite before he would put his hands on her willing and wanting form, her skin flushing, and her heart thundering as he showed her that marriage could be fun.

He could endure almost anything if it meant that she would turn to him in the dark. 

When he gave her the reins to the house, he had simply patted himself on the back. For a man that wasn’t a marrying kind, Rhett thought he was a very good husband. He gave her the freedom to please her heart however she chose too. She had fixed up the red earth splatter that was Tara, making it a meretricious blip in the destroyed wasteland of the Georgia countryside. It was tasteful though, and he had smiled when he saw she’d even recreated the Velvet drapes to hang in the dining room.

But the Peachtree Street Mansion was a monster. 

Her ideas were so ugly, so tawdry, so desperately deplorable that Rhett had sat in silent horror as she flashed illustration after illustration at him, all pictures of enormous red, carpeted Swiss Ski chalets, smiling gleefully that she was sure everyone who viewed it would “go to the devil”.

Looking at the maroon and oxblood carpet sample, he was sure he would too because he’d be living in hell. 

It had come to a head on a Sunday afternoon, tucked away to take tea in their honeymoon suite when she had shown him her demented plans for her bedroom. A Versailles-inspired hellscape, of gold and gaudy luxury, to which he had finally said ‘no’.

He almost laughed when Scarlett blinked in surprise, that tiny word coming from her husband's mouth so rare she seemed to initially not even understand it.

“No?” She repeated, her brow furrowing. 

“I have to put my foot down Scarlett,” he said, sighing out as he glossed his eyes across the hodgepodge of competing ideas, all melting together into a nauseating nightmare. The Peachtree Street Mansion was still a bare and barren hall with high ceilings and gigantic chambers. The skeleton might have been ruined but he could still save the flesh. 

“I’m sorry Scarlett,” he sighed, not sounding very sorry at all. “But I’m going to have to take tight reins over these designs.”

She laughed at him, but it never met her eyes. She glared instead, those emerald eyes flashing vicious as her lips curled over her teeth.

“I’m not one of your horses, Rhett,” she said dismissively. “And besides, husbands don’t bother on these things. You have more important things to do-”

“I’m no ordinary husband,” Rhett interrupted, immediately regretting the tact he had taken with her. “But Scarlett, I assumed it would look like Tara-”

“That was mother's house,” Scarlett bit back. “That was a restoration, this is a creation!” 

“A creation…" he muttered beneath his breath. "Like Frankenstein’s monster.” 

“What did you say, Rhett Butler?” she asked icily, glaring at him across the cluttered coffee table.

“There’s a difference between fashion and style Scarlett,” he said, trying to change the subject. She had been in the highest of moods, and he surely had no want to make her fight with him. He’d waited half a decade to touch her, he wasn’t keen to lose the privilege as soon as he had found it.

“Harper’s Bazaar is the height of fashion,” she snapped, her hot-temper on display. 

“Fashion passes my dear,” he continued, his voice calm. “It shows a cheap hand-”

“Well, when it passes we will pay for the new one!” She interrupted. “You’ve more money than anyone I’ve ever known; the season doesn't matter when you can afford them all!” 

“A house should reflect the owner,” he said heedfully. “And you are not cheap and ageing Scarlett.”

He had meant that as a compliment but the hatred that burned her eyes made Rhett wish he could reel in the words back like a fishing line. 

“You’re beautiful and charismatic,” he attempted to continue but she slammed down her teacup, the entire tea set trembling beneath her action. There was a brief pause in conversation as the china tinkled between them.

“You’re cheap and charmless,” she said spitefully, eyes odious. “You were thrown out of Charleston and it is a miracle anyone will receive you at all."

“Scarlett-” Rhett began, his tone a warning. 

“People will see my house, and they’ll be jealous, and they’ll dream of being received in the most stylish house that Georgia has ever even seen,” she continued, leaning forward, her eyes narrowing as her tone became more and more vehement. 

“Stylish?” Rhett said, the wry nature of his response causing her teeth to grit.

“And people will want to come and see where Mrs Rhett Butler lives,” she continued. “They’ll want to see what a work of art she has created-”

“This is an architectural nightmare, Scarlett,” Rhett interrupted bluntly, his hand smoothly waving across the endless magazines and drawing and fabric samples that cluttered the table and nearly every surface in the entire suite. 

“You’re the only nightmare I have to deal with!” She hissed. “And you should be grateful to have a wife so worried about appearances, seeing as you’ve destroyed yours all together!” 

Rhett nearly rolled his eyes but held a cool expression to his face. 

“I'm a Captain and a hero of the war,” Rhett said flatly. “I’m from a respected family, and my mother and sister campaign for me endlessly. I have more money than I know what to do with, and I spread it far and wide into the rubble of Atlanta. My reputation is on the repair, Scarlett.” 

“Ha!" she replied, mirthlessly laughing at him. "The only reason the old guard of Atlanta even notices you is because of me! It’s O’Hara that they respect, not Butler.”

She sneered out his name, as though it were rotten fruit sticking to her tongue. 

Rhett glared at her for a long moment, his face suddenly full of fury. 

He stood and snatched up a handful of the paper on the table.

“Rhett be careful!” She scolded, standing to meet him. 

He crumpled the particularly offensive illustrations of the bedroom in his hand as he swiftly walked to the fireplace and tossed it into the licking flames. 

To his amusement she screamed, actually screamed, as though he had thrown her firstborn child into the fire. 

“Rhett!” She shrieked, storming to him and hitting him with closed fists to his chest. He snatched at her wrists and she wrestled him, trying to bite at him as he walked her across the room, backing her hard against the wall. She was crushed between him and the wallpaper, eyes hateful as she panted. 

“I'll let you go once you’ve calmed down,” he told her condescendingly. 

She glared and struggled but finally stopped, his chin pointed as she glared up at him. 

“May I speak Scarlett?” He asked, curving a brow at her. 

“Why are you asking me Rhett? You do as you please,” She spat. 

He chuckled at her, shaking his head in frustration. His confrontation had failed. He looked down at her, sighing, and decided to switch tact. 

“I wanted to marry you the day I saw you at Twelve Oaks,” he said, making his eyes dark and inviting. She blushed, looking angry at herself for reacting in such a way. “I’ve waited a long time, a damn long time, to set up house with you Mrs Rhett Butler, and I intend to live in it with you. I intend to dine with you and entertain with you, and kiss you, and have babies with you-”

“Rhett!” she cried out, looking scandalised for a moment. Rhett chuckled at her hypocrisy. She didn’t mind doing the things needed to make a baby, but she wouldn’t be caught dead talking about it.

“I intend to grow very old and ugly in that house with you, Scarlett,” he continued. “But I don’t want to live in an old and ugly house.”

She glared at him, but he loosened his grip on her wrists.

“You didn’t grow up from money Scarlett,” he said, keeping his voice even and calm. “But you have the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen, and that is what has had you embraced by all of Atlanta.”

He saw her try to argue the point but failed, opening and closing her mouth, her brows furrowing in confusion. 

“We need a house that does the same,” he continued smoothly. “Your face is timeless, it would have been beautiful one hundred years ago, and it will be beautiful two hundred from now.” 

Her cheeks went pink in response, her eyes dipping at his flattery. 

“You don’t want your peers and the old guard to be jealous,” he said, his voice warm and smooth. “You want anyone, from your sisters to the King of England, to be envious. To marvel at your good taste and excellent design. You want them to beg for your help, for your eye for detail. You don’t want people to say, ‘this looks like Harper’s Bazaar’, no. You want them to think ‘this looks like Scarlett O’Hara.’” 

She slacked entirely, absorbed by his speech. He could see the longing for such glory in those green eyes, and his appeal to her pride, her ambition, and her vanity had worked perfectly. 

He let go of her wrists and they fell to her sides, his hand coming to cup her face, his thumb running across her jaw. 

“I want a house as beautiful as my wife,” he said, his voice warm and dark and inviting. 

He watched her nod, gulping at his words. 

“Say yes Scarlett,” he said. 

“Yes,” she said, eyes fluttering closed as she tilted her chin. He leant down at kissed her expecting lips chastely. She sighed ever so slightly as he stepped back, pulling her down to sit in his lap in a nearby armchair. 

She curled close to him as he murmured ideas and plans for their home, and she nodded warmly and openly to everything he said. 

He silently hoped he'd be able to charm her with such ease for the rest of his life, never having to take the reins again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a prompt if you'd like :)


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